


in transit

by sparkoftheflames



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Longing, Original Fiction, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 07:47:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20831894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkoftheflames/pseuds/sparkoftheflames
Summary: A sleep-deprived writer picks up his housemate from the airport.





	in transit

The airport isn’t quiet, as airports usually are, but it’s filled with soft voices. It’s before six o’clock when I arrive, parking my car and making my way up to the arrivals hall. I check the screen and see that the flight hasn’t landed, so I kill time by ignoring the dull pain in my head from a lack of sleep the night before and contemplating whether or not I should’ve brought flowers. I walk over to the gate, and lean against the metal barrier, watching families and friends reuniting, and hotel drivers in uniforms calling out to businesspeople. Everyone seems so much more awake than me, and I resent it.

I see her before she spots me, and I take a moment to appreciate her, vulnerable and searching before our eyes meet and she’s coming over. She’s wearing black leggings and a white shirt, with an oversized beige cardigan that looks very warm over the whole thing.

“Thank you for picking me up,” Manya is smiling, then kissing me on both cheeks. I get a hint of vanilla, her perfume. It’s a popular brand. She left a half-empty bottle of it on the side of the dining room before she went to New York. I’d let myself sniff it on the bad days, but would be consumed with immense guilt after. 

“It’s no problem. How was your flight?” I take her suitcase from her and start pulling it.

“Tiring. And I feel disgusting. I’m sure I look it too,” We are walking to the elevators. She looks unreasonably fresh for someone who has just flown over twenty hours, but I don’t want to tell her so. Next to her, awkward and tired in my jeans and hoodie, you would assume it was her picking me up. Her skin has a slight brightness to it, as if she’s applied a cream. She knows I won’t disagree with her, so she asks “Did you miss me?”

“The house felt quiet without you around,” This is true.

“Oh, I’m sure. I’m a riot,” I smile when she says that. It feels like an out of place comment, in the time before the world is awake, but since it’s shared between the two of us, it’s okay. We are waiting for the lift.

“Aren’t all historians?” She laughs out loud, and I am pleased by that. The elevator dings, and we enter. Manya is frowning at her distorted reflection in the metal as I press the button for the floor where my car is parked. She has her sunglasses resting on her head, like a crown. There are scratches in the metal she is looking at. I wonder how they got there. 

“How was the conference?”

“I’m tired of white men telling me the history of the land they colonised,”

“I’m sure,”

“How are you, Charlie?”

“I’m fine. Same old un-nonsensical self,”

“I missed hearing the way you talk. You have a lovely way of spinning words.” We rarely spoke on the phone while she was in New York, preferring to email each other brief updates. We walk to the car in silence after this. The rolling of Manya’s suitcase wheels feel too loud in the silent echo of the car park. The vibrations in my hand from it make me feel inhuman like my bones are moving inside a machine.

“Aiden said something similar the other day," I waited too long to reply to what she said, so this statement feels disjointed. Luckily Manya is used to me, so she doesn’t miss a beat in replying:

“Did he?”

“He said I was whimsical,”

“I disagree. You’re melodious,”

I hesitate for a second before answering “I think I prefer that. Thank you.”

We load her things into the car and sit inside. I put my eye in the ignition and watch as orange and white softly flares around my steering wheel. Manya sighs in the seat next to me. Some lyrics to the Pink Floyd song I’d been listening to float around before I abruptly turn off the radio, embarrassed. My face warms, and I wake up a little more. My head is still heavy, but my heart has missed a beat. I feel as if I’ve shown her something I shouldn’t have. Manya pretends not to notice and instead asks me about the recent weather. The conversation is mechanical from there, nothing more than small talk.

The sun is coming up as we reach the house. We sit in the car, waiting for the gate to open. Manya is looking at the sky. I lean over to her side slightly to see it. It’s a soft caricature of pinks and oranges, prettily delicate and hopeful. It looks like a romantic, surrealist painting. I sit straight again and realise Manya suits the image, but I don’t tell her so, even though I know she’d be so happy to hear it. 

“I don’t remember ever watching a sunrise with someone,” she says idly. It feels too intimate, and suddenly the temperature of my body is wrong. I don’t want to be sharing these moments with Manya. My next few movements are robotic. I drive onto the porch and lean behind to close the gate, all while avoiding looking at her.

“Thank you, Charlie,” she says after I’ve killed the ignition. She leans across and her lips are soft, pressed against my cheek. She gets out then, and I don’t look after her. Instead, I listen to the sound of her walking up the steps to the front door and the soft jingle of her keys. The door clicks as it unlocks, and she’s inside, leaving it open for me. I wait another moment, before getting out. 

After I’ve carried her bag in, I lock the front door. Manya has gone upstairs. I sit down on the purple velvet sofa and call Aiden. He answers on the third ring. 

“How’s Manya?” 

“Herself,” 

“She must be tired,” 

“She doesn’t look like it,”

“She’s a highly performative person. How are you? Get some rest. You got up at what, four?” 

“Yeah, I plan to.” He didn’t give me enough time to give him my thoughts on Manya being an actress “I just thought you’d like to know we’re both safe.”

“I do, and I appreciate it. Go to bed.” 

“Okay.” I nod submissively, even though he can’t see me. 

“Okay.” and he’s hung up. 

I walk upstairs, and still next to Manya’s door. She’s on the phone, I assume to her mum, but I can’t tell what she’s saying. Her voice is muffled. Soon, she’s quiet, and I hear the sound of her clothes being shed, then the soft thud of her shifting against her bed. Everything is completely silent for a few seconds. She’s gone to me.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting a short story. I wrote this a couple of months ago, and I actually felt proud enough of it to share it with the world :)


End file.
